


Gather Paradise

by wisdomeagle



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Community: femslash06, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fisting, Wolfram & Hart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-02
Updated: 2006-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisdomeagle/pseuds/wisdomeagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred gathers Paradise at Wolfram + Hart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gather Paradise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SecondSilk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondSilk/gifts).



> Thanks to Zulu for the beta.

The spreading wide my narrow Hands  
To gather Paradise -- \- "I Dwell In Possibility" by Emily Dickinson

 

The memory of Lilah's breath is a little patch of warmth on Fred's left shoulder; the rest of her is shivering except where Lilah is -- the goosepimples on her thigh recede against the press of Lilah's palm. Fred's teeth chatter against Lilah's, and she's afraid she'll accidentally bite down on Lilah's tongue, thick and heavy in her mouth. She loves to fear this because it's so ridiculous, because Lilah's the one person she could never hurt.

Lilah just presses more heavily against Fred's thigh and brings her right hand to rest on Fred's shoulder; she slides her tongue out of Fred's mouth to kiss the other shoulder, and Fred shivers again, not with cold. 

A caress on one shoulder, a kiss on the other, and a hand on her thigh, creeping upwards like a teasing spring bloom; so much sensation everywhere tears Fred apart and her head spins more than it did her first night back in LA; she doesn't know where to look or focus so she closes her eyes and keens against the still, cold air. 

The almost silent hum of the AC is the only sound that interrupts their kiss-and-slide wetness; the building is sterile and chilly and Lilah's office even colder. Fred hears it every time Lilah shifts against her, the sound her breath makes escaping in gasps from her lungs, the soft sound of Lilah's stiletto sinking into Fred's long-abandoned skirt, the skitting sharpness of her own gasp when Lilah's hand finds her breast and tugs, hard, on her nipple.

Every time she comes here, Fred becomes a little softer, a little more pliable in Lilah's hands, a little less surprised when Lilah bites her, when Lilah's fingernails scratch her, when her fingers breach her. She's softer and more demanding all at once, settling into the discomfort of being naked and cold and pressed against a plaster wall, comfortable enough in her discomfort to whisper meaninglessly into the silence, to wrap her own arms around Lilah's head and pull her down to her breasts. When Lilah's teeth scrape Fred's skin, her mouth opens but she makes no sound; the gasp is swallowed in surprise when Lilah bites down.

Last time Lilah only worked three fingers inside her, but Fred's been practicing, experimenting, back at the hotel, and though it's impossible to fist herself she knows that Lilah can do it, and sure enough the first two fingers hardly stretch her; Fred opens her mouth as if that will open her other lips wider, and then Lilah rotates her fingers slowly, and a moan escapes. The third finger feels impossibly large, and the fourth finger pulls her down; she slides against the wall till she's crouched roughly over Lilah's hand, a birthing in reverse, and Lilah smirks and encourages her to lie. It's easier when she's prone, legs spread and hair mussed, and they begin again: kiss, touch, bite, breasts, and then at last three fingers deep inside her, making her sob. A fourth finger, and her insides are scraped and scratched; a more sensitive lover would clip her fingernails but Lilah wouldn't dream of it, and there's just her thumb remaining, and then there's nothing at all outside; Fred closes her eyes and the cold melts with the burning warmth of Lilah's fingers curling into a ball and nestling inside her, rocking against her and pushing just a little deeper, just so much deeper until Fred moans again, and then again, and then is nothing but her moan and Lilah's hand and she reaches down to touch herself but Lilah's left hand is already there, fumbling over Fred's clit until her moan turns into a gasp that turns into a slow stream of soft obscenities, "fuck Lilah fuck god thank you fuck god _Lilah_ ," that end in good tears and tearing when Lilah unclenches her fist and pulls out.

Then Fred remembers that she's cold, and shivers back into her miniskirt and sweater, and Lilah, sitting on the floor, licks her messy, wet hand and smiles meanly at Fred, who's almost out the door.

"If you leave now, don't dream of coming back," says Lilah, and for a moment it's tempting to leave Wolfram and Hart far behind, to sashay away with mussed hair and leave Lilah, legs spread, panting for her. _Tempting_ , because she's not sure which would really be the right thing to do. _Tempting_ , because Lilah's eyes aren't so much come-hither as they are baited hooks, and Fred knows from memory that the red, shaved, swollen curve of Lilah's sex is exactly like Eden's fruit.

Tempting, because she succumbs. Tempting, because she can't refuse, because she can't imagine staying at the hotel and knowing she could never again leave its dusty hallways and sad, sighing inhabitants and Cordelia's headaches and so much anger, and so much ooze and grime, and so many chores. The Hyperion's darkness is bearable because of the way the sun shafts through the windows of Lilah's office, haloing her chest and hairdo.

Fred turns slowly and follows the crook of Lilah's finger, her sex still aching from the flesh-memory of Lilah inside her. She stumbles awkwardly to her knees and spreads her legs wide over Lilah's, brings Lilah's skirt up over her hips and pushes aside her thong with one hand, pushes in with the other. She'd never dare take Lilah the way Lilah takes her, as if there were enough of her to fill Lilah to the hilt, but one finger in her, one on her clit, and earnest encouragement, (c'mon, for me, go on, oh, you're wet, Lilah, go on, Lilah, go on) are enough, and Lilah comes shaking in Fred's hands, covers her with slickness, and when Fred's got her breath back, "Can I go now?"

"Do you really want to?" Lilah asks the ceiling, and Fred doesn't bother to answer, nor to wash her hands, but wipes them on Lilah's skirt and gets to her feet, eyeing the door as if it were salvation.


End file.
